Walking with the Dead
by twisted-remnant
Summary: With the world dying around him, Shawn must find a way to survive. Be it through people who take him in, or on his own. But with dangers around every corner, how long can the young man last? Rated M for language, and gore.


**A/N:** Another story from yours truly, twisted-remnant. Hopefully this one will fair better. Well, enjoy. Read and Review.**

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**Walking with the Dead**

By:

twisted-remnant

**Prologue**

_Nobody expects to wake up to columns of smoke wafting up into the air, or terrified screams reverberating off of the walls of homes. No sane person would expect to wake up and look out their second story bedroom window to see a mother running after her own daughter then tear out a chunk of her flesh once she caught up. Even if you had woke up to this, sure you wouldn't venture downstairs only to be chased back up those stairs by your own brother, one that you had chased around and scared just the night before. I suppose it's safe to say that I'm insane, seeing as I was brought out of my slumber by screams, and I did see columns of smoke and fire rising into the sky. The mother chasing her own daughter down the street, and then chewing on her was true as well, I knew it was a mother and daughter, seeing as the lived just across the street from us. As for my younger brother, Bobby, he did chase me up those stairs, with a look in his eyes that I could only describe as one thing, animalistic hunger. If his eyes didn't give it away, his teeth gnashing open and closed with bloody saliva running out of the corners of his mouth was evidence enough._

_Most eighteen year old guys would be ashamed to say they ran in fear from their kid brother, but I'm not. I didn't just run in fear, I ran with raw terror driving my legs, which allowed me to make it back to my room in only a couple seconds. After locking the door, I slipped down until I was crouched with my back pressed firmly against the thick door, my head lowered into my palms that rested atop my knees. The trembling I experienced at that point was great; however the constant bombardment of two tiny fists on my door didn't make the trembling any better. It wasn't until three minutes later, when one of those tiny fists broke through the door, that I moved away from the door and turned to see my brother ripping at the hole. His flesh tearing away as he grabbed a hold and tore at the splinters protruding from the door was a sight disgusting enough for my stomach to churn. Fear was, once again, the driving force that made me move around my room in a frantic rush, pulling on socks and shoes, but neglecting to pull a shirt over my bare chest, which was glistening with the sweat induced from my panic, and frantic movements._

_I made it out of my window, just as the hole in my door grew to the point Bobby could stick his head through, and it was at that point his tiny fists were joined by the more feminine, albeit just as bloody, hands of my mother. With her added influence, the hole grew quicker, and I'd been forced to make a decision I had made many times before, but never had I believed it would aid me in my survival. Other times, running was not the best way to move across the roof of the porch, because the point then had been to sneak out with no one knowing, but then, running was the only logical choice. So I ran, and when I made it to the far corner, I grabbed the edge of the roof and lowered myself until I was able to drop into the hedges below. It was at that exact moment my bedroom door split open, and instead of just two forms in my window, three tried to push their way out. One small, my brother; the other just as small, yet tall, my mother and the third was tall, and masculine, my father. All three of them had the same animalistic desire in their eyes, the desire to feed. At that point, I had been too caught up in my panic to realize what was happening. Staying up late watching those horror movies should've given it away, but I had been too scared, and the adrenaline was fueling only the necessary movements to carry me away from the source of my fear. So I ran, I ran until my legs burned and my entire body protested with each movement, but I kept going._

_I had been perfectly aware of the ravenous pack of people behind me, but I was in no condition to try and fight them. Even if my body had been in peak condition, my mind wouldn't allow me to complete the necessary motor functions to even take a swing at one of them. The knowledge of the pack behind me, and the disemboweled corpses along the way were what kept me going, but one thought crusaded through my mind, "I'm going to die." That was when the gunshot echoed through the air, and a voice resonated through my ears, "Over here." It took only a second to pinpoint the origin of the voice, and gunshot, for another repot of gunfire erupted. In an instant, my path changed direction and I was running directly towards the source; a two story house on a hill, with a large deck extending from the front of the house a good thirty feet. It was braced with columns that were dug into the slope of the hill, and under this deck was a single, white, dually pick-up. Another gunshot came from the deck, and I was partially aware that the pack had just lost three of its members._

_Past the pick-up was a heavy wooden door that was being held open by a woman that appeared to be in her late thirties, early forties. Even with the world dying around her, she appeared unusually calm, as if it was just another day in her normal life. It was clear to me at that point; this woman was not one to mess around with. Not only did she have the air about her that she could snap your neck without a second thought, the way she braced her body against the door, and kept the handgun trained on the pack behind me suggested she had experience. The woman barely gave me a second glance as I passed her and entered the house. Two gunshots erupted from behind me, and the door slammed shut, followed by the sound of a deadbolt being locked into place. At that point, I was doubled over with my hands resting on my knees, gasping for the air that wouldn't come fast enough. There was a painful stitch in my side, and I was aware of a splitting headache forming at the base of my skull. With the lack of food, combined with the constant running, headache, and the death around me, I did the last thing any person would; I vomited, and then passed out from exhaustion._


End file.
